


Reckoner

by AndieGoWest



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Lovers To Enemies, Magic, OFC - Freeform, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Original Female Character, Radiohead References, chakras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23684926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndieGoWest/pseuds/AndieGoWest
Summary: When Dr. Doom had instructed her to begin to keep an eye on Stephen Strange she had jumped at the chance.“He is going to go through a rapid change. And soon. We must know what he is up to,"Doom had explained to her.Whatever Doom wanted with Stephen remained a mystery to her. But any chance to see her old … friend was more than welcome. She could not imagine what could possibly change what 15 years and an absurdly high doctor’s salary could not … Stephen was the same arrogant asshole she had fallen in love with.
Relationships: Stephen Strange/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

Deep within the mountains of Latveria, Elaine took a deep steadying breath. She felt the tendrils of magic that flowed through the air and raised a delicate hand as if to literally grasp the it into herself.

 _“Physical movement often aids intent with regards to the magical realm,”_ her mentor’s voice echoed across her mind as the energy entered her body through her heart chakra.

The energy that permeated the Universe could be manipulated by those that were trained to do so. The particularly powerful had inherent additional energy that pulsed within themselves. When one combined the two, one could accomplish much for good or ill. In this instance, her own energy melded with the Universal energy she drew in and traveled up her throat before sinking into the primal part of her brain. 

She hummed in satisfaction and began her search. In her mind’s eye she pictured him. Brash, confident … annoying … strangely handsome. She laughed at her little joke before the reflection of his atman, his soul, refocused her to the task at hand. She pushed her own soul towards his, across the Atlantic Ocean to Metro Hospital in New York City. Even after all the years that had passed since she had seen him in the flesh, the sight of him still sent a thrill through her.

 _“ … After all this time?”_ she could imagine him smirking at her.

 _“Of course,”_ she would say back.

_“Hopeless.”_

Her astral self floated alongside whom she had come to know as Christine Palmer, a former lover of his and a good doctor in her own right. He flirted with her openly as he strutted down the starkly lit hospital hallway. Elaine rolled her eyes in time with Dr. Palmer's as he asked her out to some charity thing he was to attend. After being thoroughly rebuffed by Dr. Palmer, he continued his stroll to the surgical team showers where Elaine’s astral self did not follow. He already didn’t know about her drop-ins; no need to cross THAT line. She sighed and made note of the charity and date before letting go of New York to open her eyes back in her chambers at the royal palace in Latveria.

When Dr. Doom had instructed her to begin to keep an eye on Dr. Stephen Strange she had jumped at the chance. _“He is going to go through a rapid change. And soon. We must know what he is up to,”_ he had explained to her.

Whatever Doom wanted with Stephen remained a mystery to her. But any chance to see her old … friend was more than welcome. She could not imagine what could possibly change what 15 years and an absurdly high doctor’s salary could not … Stephen was the same arrogant asshole she had fallen in love with.

“Hopeless,” she muttered to herself.


	2. Chapter One

Several years ago ...

Thom Yorke’s razor edge voice cut into Elaine’s ears as she read the same textbook passage for the seventh time. She’d been trying to parse the damn thing for a half hour, pausing after each attempt to mull over the words before her eyes would inevitably circuit back to the beginning.

“Okay so if that’s the case then … then THAT must mean …” she whispered to herself as she scribbled in the margins of her own notes. Her concentration broke as her ears picked up a muffled baritone voice through her music.

“Sorry?” she squinted, pulling off her head phones.

“I said ‘you cannot possibly be serious.’” Her soft brown eyes met startling blue ones. Eyes she would normally find ethereal had those eyes not belonged to a man with a very condescending tone of voice.

“About what?” she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in what she hoped was a clear conveyance of how annoyed she was at the interruption. Why was she even engaging him? She had no idea. Instead she thought back to the “introduction to college” course that had been required of all incoming freshmen when she had matriculated here at Columbia. The professor had advised the wide-eyed eighteen-year-olds to choose a place on campus outside of their dorm to devote ONLY to classwork. Apparently there had been a study on studying that showed this practice aided in retention of the material or some such thing as that. Her teenage self had taken the advice to heart and had claimed a laminate wood desk in the back corner of the third floor of the library. In her YEARS at this university no one had bothered her. Until now.

“That you’re having trouble with such an elementary concept,” he smiled in a way that she assumed he thought was charming but most definitely was not.

She cleared her throat.

“Well I do apologize for my plebeian attempts at academia so close to your superior intellect,” she pulled the head phones back down to hover back over her ears. “Forget about your house of cards/And I’ll do mine,” warbled through the gap between her ears and the head phones.

“ _In Rainbows_?”

“What?!” she hissed, pulling the headphones off again, now properly mad.

“Maybe you should turn that down,” he said and then immediately raised his hands in mock surrender, offering a genuine smile in the face of her incredulous glare.

“Look, I’m trying to start a conversation with you.”

“Well you’re not doing a very good job of it,” she muttered. “So this is just so easy to understand huh?” She motioned to her notes.

He pulled a nearby chair closer to her desk and sat down, his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, the book he had had in his hands was now hugged to his chest. There was a fluidity in his movements she immediately appreciated. Especially for a man--and a tall one at that--he was graceful.

“Sure it is.” He proceeded to explain the concept she was struggling over so simply, so succinctly, she had to check her smile, lest he think she was too impressed with him. The glimpse of his grace was gone as the smirk appeared again.

“Oh … that actually makes a lot of sense,” she furrowed her eyebrows at him and then down at her notes. She plucked up her pencil once again and hurried to write down what he had said as close to verbatim as she could.

“I can repeat it if you want.” She ignored him this time.

“Well, thank you for the help,” she said and firmly planted her earphones back on, effectively ending the conversation. He may have had an insight into this theory but that didn’t give him license to be condescending. He made to say something else but seemed to think better of it, opting instead to simply drag his chair back to its place and walk away.

<><><><><><>

Not one week later Elaine ground her teeth together in frustration. She sat in the back right corner of the large lecture hall and openly glared at the teaching assistant. Up until now, he had been absent from the lectures. No one paid the absence too much mind. Sometimes teaching assistants only acted as de facto tutors and didn’t necessarily attend lectures. But there was no mistaking the guy at the lectern as being the very same oh-so-helpful guy from the library.

“Ladies and gentlemen you’re privileged enough to bask in my presence today as I was not too busy to fill in for Dr. Lu. My name is Stephen Strange. You may call me Mister Strange.” Stephen stood much too casually against the lecture podium. “Some of you,” he continued, searching the rows of students one-by-one, “could really use my perspective.” He found her eyes and his lips broke out into a wolfish grin. Rolling her eyes she opened her notebook and made a show of preparing to write, determined not to make eye contact with him again.

He prattled on for a good 15 minutes, illustrating his points with gestures from his long tapered fingers. Occasionally he would write out a concept he found particularly important on the whiteboard behind him. As his hands swept through the air in front of him, she found herself staring at him without a good explanation. Actually, no, there was a very good explanation: his hands were gorgeous. Gorgeous in a way a man’s hands usually weren’t. His were sinuous, almost sensual unto themselves. She let herself imagine how his fingers might grasp everything from a spoon to a scalpel to her thighs as he might hypothetically hoist her onto her kitchen countertop. These remarkable fingers lead to broad palms that didn’t look like they had seen any hard labor in their lives but looked strong all the same.

The topic he was going over was one the class had already covered, but she assumed he thought he would be able to explain it SO much better than Dr. Lu. Her eyes followed a line from his hands up his long arms and along the pale column of his throat. There was something undeniably attractive about him, she wouldn’t debate that … perhaps it was the ease with which he moved. Yes, there was a strut to him but as he shifted to the next topic, he turned to the board to spell out his thought, she saw only the grace she had glimpsed for a moment in the library the previous week.

As he scribbled she could only sigh … she really needed to get a life.

“Is there a problem Ms. Calhoun?” Reverie broken at the sound of her name, she nearly leapt out of her seat in surprise. His back was still to the hall, how did he know it was her that had sighed? Actually, how did he know her last name? Did he study the damned seating chart?

He spun on a heel, capped the dry erase marker and clapped his eyes on hers. Suddenly she felt exposed almost like he was looking through her. A glance to her fellow students on her left and right proved that he knew it was her because everyone else was hanging on his every word.

“There’s no problem,” she tried to sound even and confident and was perhaps only half successful. He made no comment and instead turned back to the whiteboard.

“Now some of you may have had difficulties with the Weisen Theorem …” he started to draw a graph, turning his head back around just enough so that she could see the upturned corner of his mouth.

Jaw set again, she blushed furiously down at her notes.

‘ _What an unbelievable ass_ ,’ she wrote in her notes.

<><><><>

“You know, you really could damage your hearing by listening to music loudly.” Elaine really, really tried to shoot literal daggers out of her eyes at the intruder but found the effort was for naught as Stephen plunked one hand down on her desk next to her notebook, the other on the back of her chair and proceeded to lean over to read her notes. “You’re copying down too much detail; you’ll never remember all of that,” he gestured at her scribbles with one of his index fingers and, really, no one should have hands that wonderful but have a voice that was that annoying. Actually his voice wasn’t bad either, it was just the words he was using.

“Okay, obviously you know the material as you’re the TA for Christ’s sake but maybe us lowly students need the extra bits. And how do you know I won’t remember it all?”

“Well, you might as well not take notes at all if you’re just going to copy the text word-for-word.”

“Do you think you’re charming like this?”

“Who said anything about being charming? I’m merely …”

“Let me guess, you’re ‘just passing along your wisdom.’” Headphones returned to her ears, she felt Stephen move away from her back. A chill ran down her spine as she realized how the warmth of his body had temporarily taken away the cold of the upper floors of the library. For a second she felt a little guilty for being so bitchy. Only a second though.

<><><>

“You know, I saw them on their Kid A tour,” she cringed at the voice, but jealousy won out over irritation.

“You did not, ugh,” she sighed, removing her headphones to regard Stephen. “They came nowhere near me!”

“Where are you from?”

“Oklahoma City. Well, north of the city,” she waved her hand in the air to indicate "north."

“Poor girl; New York born and raised.”

“So are you trying to be my tutor or something?” she sighed.

“Actually, I’m merely trying to pass along some help to a fellow future physician.”

“Oh I’m not on the medical track … oh no, you’re not going to be DOCTOR doctor are you?” she grimaced in an exaggerated fashion, which won her a good natured chuckle from him. Once again, when his smarmy artiface dropped so did her irritation. She twisted in her chair to face him and launched into her “Kid A versus OK Computer” monologue that had been so perfected over the past six years of college. He came right back at her with the merits of vinyl against CD’s; then the pros and cons of “fast forward and “skip” buttons. (“You miss the heart of the album if you can simply not hear entire portions of it,” he had said.) She forgot EVER being irritated as she listened to him weave his thoughts about music. Again his hands came into play as they did in the lecture hall. This time however there was no condescending tone. His eyes were alight with excitement and she was rapt with the passion of his argument. They talked until the librarians began flickering the lights on and off signalling it was midnight and they were going to be locked in if they did not leave now, please.’

“Shall we continue this at Mullen’s?” he asked.

“I don’t think I’m really dressed to go out,” she muttered as she stood, embarrassed as she remembered she was wearing sweatpants. On a normal day, she would at least TRY for jeans but this damn chapter was giving her such fits she threw on the nearest clean clothes and made for “her” study spot. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, trying not to blush at his twill Dockers and linen shirt.

“Not dressed up enough for a college bar on a weeknight?” he rolled his eyes but his voice was soft and hopeful.  
“How about an evening stroll back to my apartment?” His lips parted, a question unasked as she turned a furious shade of red. “That wasn’t an invitation,” she held up a hand, desperate now to try to have some semblance of control of the situation. She was a grown woman for goodness sake. Technically.

“I wouldn’t assume,” he laughed lightly. “ A walk sounds … nice.” She imagined her already crimson face getting even redder.

“C’mon you ass, I’m calling it a night early thanks to you,” she quickly gathered her things into her backpack and looped her arm into his loose left arm without even thinking about it. For half a second he stiffened, then brought his left hand up to his chest in an easy show of being gentlemanly.

"Bittersweet distractors,” Stephen half-hummed/half-sung under his breath.

She stopped walking.

“Are you seriously going to start singing?”

“Would you be impressed if I did?”

“Do you answer every question with a question?”

“Do you?”

She sighed, bemused.

“You really think that you’re something special, don’t you?”

“Well I wouldn’t be a very good doctor if I didn’t, right?”

“You’re not a doctor yet,” she pointed out.

“Touche … now which way to this apartment of yours?”

They chatted amicably as they meandered to her home, attempting to extend the evening further by taking the long way there. In the end they wound up sitting on the front stoop of the building, legs folded up to their chests as a cool early Fall breeze brushed against them.

She hadn’t talked into the night like this since Junior year. Before everyone went their separate ways for undergrad internships and Senior thesis’. Names she had to think about for a moment before she recalled them fully. People long since graduated and moved on while she remained entrenched in cellular biomechanics of all things.

It was … nice. It was nice to learn that he wasn’t such a condescending twerp. At least not all the time.

“Do you want to go over your notes at all? Still using skeens of paper to copy whole chapters of out-of-date textbooks?” He smirked at her under the glow of the lights of her block’s street lamps.

“Listen, I got this far with the way I take notes,” she started to rant but then caught his eye. He looked as if for a moment he felt bad for his comment, but the look was gone in a flash as he unfolded his legs to stand. She rushed to follow him, refusing to be caught sitting while he towered over her.

“So, I’ll see you around I guess,” he said, turning to descend the walkway towards the street.

“Hey, don't stomp away just because I'm pushing back. Just … don’t insult my intelligence, okay?” She didn’t mean to blurt it out quite the way she did, but the words hung in the air all the same. Stephen stopped midstep, paused with his back to her. She thought for a moment he would turn around; have something else to needle her about … but he simply nodded his head and kept walking.


	3. Chapter Two

The next time she saw him was outside of Dr. Lu’s lecture hall.

“Are you sure you’re not following me?” she asked with warmth, butterflies soaring and dipping in her stomach.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he laughed. “I’m here to pick up some quizzes Lu wants me to grade.

“Ah …” she started and blushed. It seemed all her blood supply was doing lately was rushing to her face. Stephen’s eyes narrowed as he regarded her face, taking in her bright red cheeks. Her eyes darted to the floor at her feet.

“So do you hate me any less now after that cliché bonding session?” Stephen smirked. The pleasant flutter in her stomach came to an abrupt halt at his tone and the use of the words ‘hate’ and ‘cliché.’ Her gaze flew back up to meet his own.

“I never  _ hated _ you. You can be insufferably condescending ... I  _ can’t _ be the first person to tell you that.”

“Well, you’re the first  _ woman _ to do so.” She gaped at him, simply at a loss for words at his attitude.

“Just who do you think you are? You self-involved narcissist!”

“That’s a little repetitive don’t you think?”

“You arrogant ass!”

“Ah, see, I like the alliteration.” A few people from her class were beginning to gather in a small crowd behind her as both her and Stephen were blocking the doorway. They were throwing glances their way, trying to be subtle as they looked up and down from their notes as they waited to get inside. Why was he still here anyway? Seeming to take pleasure from her anger?  _ She _ needed to be here for her class,  _ he _ should be the one to leave she fumed to herself. What was even going on? Where was the pleasant and funny Stephen from the other night? 

“Let me through, I’m beyond tolerating this,” she hissed and attempted to squeeze past him. He gave an inch but didn’t move completely out of her way.

“Look …”

“No more of your shit, Strange.”

“There’s that alliteration again.”

She always had a bit of a temper. But her default reaction to being frustrated, infuriated, anything of the sort was to cry. She couldn’t help it. It was embarrassing but she usually was able to laugh it off to any witnesses. But how she wished she could stop the lump that suddenly rose in her throat. Tears sprung to her eyes and of course Stephen didn’t miss anything and his smirk disappeared, replaced with a look of horror.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” he started.

“Whatever. Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”

“Of course I mean it! I didn’t mean to make you cry … fuck.” 

Now she was well and truly humiliated. Her classmates weren’t even looking at them anymore, staring a little too intently down at whatever they held in their hands. Her embarrassment stoked a tear to finally break free from her eyes and slide down her cheek. Through all of this bullshit, though, something in her chest, right behind her heart  _ twisted _ when she saw how truly upset he looked. There was something still pulling her towards him; as infuriating as he was, the sharper edge of her fury dissipated.

“If you want to  _ show _ me you’re sorry, fine.”

“What do you mean?” he called after her as she charged past him. ‘What did she mean?’ Elaine herself didn’t even know what she meant by that cryptic comment. 

Elaine slammed her bag onto her desk and sat down in her chair hard. Burying her face into the cloth of her bag, she willed herself to calm down and stop the tears from flowing.

“It’s probably not the best strategy with Mr. Strange to tell him you think he is attractive and intelligent, Ms. Calhoun. Best not to inflate his ego any more than it already is.” Elaine looked up to see Dr. Lu in front of her desk, holding out a Kleenex. Groaning, she grabbed the tissue and reburied her head in her bag.

Damn Stephen Strange.


	4. Chapter Three

And that, she thought, was that. Somehow, she had pulled herself together enough to actually make eye contact with Dr. Lu by the end of his lecture that day. He made no further mention of Stephen and her classmates didn’t bring anything up to her. For once she was thankful she didn’t actually socialize with anyone so there would be no sympathizing or scolding over lunch or coffee. Sometimes she mourned not forming closer attachments to her fellow grad students but it did spare her any quasi therapy sessions whenever she managed to make an idiot out of herself.

Instead Elaine found solace in her hideaway study area in the library, though it did take a week to feel comfortable in that space again. By the end of those seven days, she managed to refrain from constantly looking over her shoulder with the expectation that _he_ would round the corner at any moment, smirk as prominent as ever. 

On the evening of the eighth day after ‘the incident’, there was a Chai tea sitting at ‘her’ desk. Funnily enough, she had been craving one all day but when she finally left for the library it was pouring down rain far too much to make an extra stop to get one. It was enough to run at full speed to the library, thankful for her dorm’s relative proximity to the building. The seasons hadn't officially changed yet, but the cool air of Fall was starting to creep in the evening, making for pleasant breezes at clear sunsets, but made any rain that happened at night positively uncomfortable if you were caught out in it.

Elaine lurched toward the disposable cup, the scent of the Chai spices reaching out to her. Just as she was about to grasp it, she paused. How long had she been in college? How many lectures had been delivered by various figures of authority to her about the dangers of drinking something she herself hadn’t seen poured? And yet here she was, perilously close to discarding that very sound advice. A chill ran through her, reminding her of her positively soaking wet clothes clinging to her body. Jeans had been a poor choice. 

With a small noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a groan, she picked up the tea and moved it to an adjacent desk. She could still see the tea in her peripheral vision, taunting her as the air conditioning vent above her kicked on. Of course, she could move to another desk, but _this_ desk was the one she worked best at. Elaine spared the cup a longing glance and noticed that her name was written on it.

Did this make the situation better or worse?

On the one hand, this beverage was clearly meant for her. Elaine wasn’t a very common name after all. On the other hand, maybe she was being targeted by someone with less than good intentions.

Who would target her though? She didn’t exactly have any enemies. Didn’t have to be someone obvious, though, she reminded herself and tried to concentrate on her notes. After a moment, she hardly noticed her wet clothes or the air from above blowing down on her. The words in front of her began to metaphorically dance as she became engrossed in committing them into her memory. Of course, grad work was more than memorization. She also began to expand on her rudimentary thoughts that formed her lecture notes. Her pencil danced over the margins of her notebook, marking reminders for herself to look up a further article here, or another text there to help her understand the concepts more and push her even more forward in her thesis.

Before she knew it, the lights flashed to indicate the library was closing. Her mind whipped back to her evening with Stephen when they had been interrupted by the same thing. She sighed, spared a last look at the now-cold tea and braved the rain to return to her cozy room.

<><><>

Two days later, another cup of tea was sitting on her desk. Chai again; the clove, cardamom and cinnamon assaulting her nose in the most pleasant way. Steam pleasantly curled up over the mouthpiece of the disposable cup. Her name was written on the side again, this time in all capital letters _and_ underlined. A Post-it note was stuck to the desk right beside the cup. “Not poisoned” it read.

Well.

Feeling very much like Alice in Wonderland with the different bottles promising different results, she took a sip, almost against her better judgement. But the night had been cooler than she thought it would be and she had stubbornly refused to turn back for a jacket, already running behind for starting her daily review of her course materials. Not only that, but a new line of thought had been brewing in the back of her mind the entire day and she was eager to stalk the shelves to find just the right journal to back up her speculation.

The tea was perhaps the most delicious she had ever had. _Where_ had whoever who had gotten this for her gotten it? She looked around and saw no one, no clues other than the distinctive spiky handwriting on the Post-it note as to who had left the tea for her. She half-hummed, half-sang to herself as she strolled through the shelves, slowing down to enjoy the Chai. " _Let me shake you by the hand/Just wanna say thank you_ ," she murmured. Eventually, the tea was consumed and she landed on the journal she wanted and took the book back to her desk. Almost absent-mindedly, she used the Post-it as a bookmark, carefully folding the sticky part over so that the adhesive wouldn’t damage the page when she found the article she wanted to explore further. She would have to check the journal out of the library, she needed to pour over it for longer than a single evening would allow. 

Humming to herself again, she practically skipped back to her room, confident her thesis would pan out after all.

As the week continued on, there wasn’t always a tea waiting for her. But there was always a note. The notes would suggest a text she hadn’t thought to use and a song. Something began to tickle the back of her mind. The song suggestions made her suspicious, but she pushed the feeling down in favor of just how helpful the texts were proving to be.

A week after the initial tea, another, bigger cup of tea (this time it was Darjeeling, her mouth began to water where she stood) sat waiting for her as well as a CD. A mixed album from the looks of it, with the distinctive handwriting from the notes that had been left for her all week scribbled on the part of the CD where one could write on.

“Sorry Mix, Volume One.”

Elaine didn’t even set down her bag, she snatched up the tea and CD and ran back to her room to play the music at once.

The mix was absolutely wonderful, of course. 

It was everything she would have put in an apology. The Temptations’ “Sorry is a Sorry Word” started the mix, but not every song was an obvious ode to apologies. Some songs simply evoked the feeling, which she appreciated. By the end, she was laughing as Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” blared over her speakers. Which made her furious of course, because now the damn butterflies in her stomach were back. No Radiohead appeared on the mix, but she forgave it as not many of their songs really telegraphed what Stephen was so clearly going for.

Which was to _show_ her he was sorry. Her school work would have to wait. With one hand she curled her tea cup to her chest, close to her heart, and opened her laptop. She was going to show him she accepted his apology. Pulling a blank CD from the cylinder stack that lived on her desk, she put it in her laptop. Mind whirling, she got to work.

At first she was stumped, trying too hard to get the mix of songs just right. She clicked through playlists and albums on her hard drive, but it was like trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. A heavy sigh passed her lips and her eyes began to wander around her room, eventually landing on the journal she had checked out from the library on the night she had first drank the tea he left for her. She opened it to her bookmark--the Post-it that said ‘not poisoned’--and smiled.

‘Every Rose Has its Thorn’ would be a nice start she mused to herself. The rest fell into place and by the end she was quite proud of herself. Now it was just a matter of getting it to him. He had her at an advantage that she was in the library at basically the same time every night; she had no clue where he was when. For a moment, she thought about asking Dr. Lu but almost immediately dismissed the idea. Would he still leave her things now that he had revealed himself and the reason the gifts? No other option presented itself and she had nothing to lose, really, but showing up to the library early to see if she could catch him depositing something on her desk.

She couldn’t believe her luck that night when she crept onto the floor of the library that held her desk and saw him with his back to her, hunched over the desk she used. There was no mistaking that it was him, at least she thought so anyway. The lean lines of his back shifted just so as he appeared to be writing something. Again she couldn’t help but notice how everything he did seemed to belie some amount of grace. Elaine leaned one shoulder against a nearby bookcase, jutting her hips to one side. Her pose was much more casual than she felt, her fingers clutching the CD case until the plastic risked cracking under her grip.

Stephen turned around with a smirk, clearly amused with whatever he had written to her. He froze when he saw her. Elaine mustered confidence from who-knows-where and held out the CD for him to take. His mouth popped open, his lips forming a perfect ‘O.’ Her mind stuttered to a halt as she took in his lips, bemused that this was perhaps the longest the two of them had ever spent in total silence but at the same time noting just how lovely his mouth was. When she willed herself to look back to his eyes, his expression had shifted into one of amusement. Eyes glittering, he took the case from her and read the title she had written on it.

“‘Not Sorry, Just a Bit Regretful,’” he read and raised an eyebrow at her. Her heart began to thud in a way that was uncomfortable and wonderful at the same time.

"Well, you know, I probably shouldn't have called you an ass. Narcissist was fair-enough," she lifted an eyebrow of her own at him and he answered with a grin.

“Do you want to go to Bud’s with me?” he asked. His tone was soft, but his eyes danced as if she was the funniest thing he had ever beheld.

Elaine had no idea who or what Bud’s was but in that moment she would have gone with him anywhere.

“Sure,” she squeaked. And for the second night in a row she abandoned the library.


	5. Chapter 5

“You nerd,” she declared as they walked up to the storefront of what he had called ‘Bud’s,’ which was in reality the ‘New York Music Store,’ a very good, very intimidating music store about five blocks from Columbia. Intimidating because of the owner--Bud Simpowitz-- had a terrible attitude towards his customers. A perpetually grumpy man who had probably been born anywhere from 1837 to 1921 if his aversion to modern technology was any indication, he seemed to think having people other than himself in his shop was an inconvenience more than anything else. The sign on the door of the shop did not read the store hours but was rather a long litany of what was _not_ allowed inside his doors. Cell phones, pagers, PDA’s, Game Boys (Elaine may have rolled her eyes a bit at that one) were but a few examples of what was banned for use inside his doors. Vinyl albums were all Bud sold in an attempt both not to conform to what he called ‘passing fads’ and because he truly thought the music sounded better in that format.

Played through wooden speakers of course.

All of this Elaine had heard second-hand. The rules and rituals for going into the New York Music Store were too intimidating; made her feel shy and not cool, though she would be loath to admit it out loud. If all of the pretentious rumors were true about the place, it was of absolutely no surprise to her that Stephen was on a first-name basis with the owner. 

“Do you want to go in or not?” Stephen feigned exasperation, but his eyes still danced as they did in the library. The longer his amusement went on, the higher the proverbial cloud Elaine sat on floated. It was embarrassing, really, how quickly she forgave Stephen’s barbs towards her. She shrugged to herself, when had she really held a grudge, after all?

“Of course I do, though I’m honestly glad to go in for the first time with someone who has been here before,” she motioned to the door, which Stephen opened wide for her, waving his hand to let her know she should go inside first.

“You’ve really not been here before?” he whispered, almost walking into her back as she stopped short to take in the view.

The walls were lined with mismatched bookcases that were full to the brim with vinyl records. Full to the point where one might be afraid to pull out a record for inspection, lest one couldn’t fit it back in the shelf if he or she didn’t want to actually take the album home. In between the bookcases and scattered throughout the middle of the floor of the shop were dozens of milk crates stacked on top of each other in various sized towers, crammed full of what appeared to be a variety of sheet music books, musical theory tomes and a few biographies. It was immediately apparent that there was no traditional organizational system in place. However the materials were placed made sense to one person only, the man sitting behind the counter by the door. Stephen had distracted Elaine sufficiently enough for her not to even notice Bud as she had glided through the entrance.

“How’s it going tonight, Bud?” Stephen smiled at the man while at the same time peering through the glass case behind the counter at the truly rare memorabilia that sat in it. There was always some question about whether or not anything in that collection was actually for sale as the inventory never seemed to actually change over the years.

“Does your friend know the rules?” Bud replied, ignoring Stephen’s question entirely.

“Of course,” Stephen smiled and placed his hands on Elaine’s shoulders to steer her away from the counter before she could confirm or deny whether or not she did, in fact, know the rules. 

Her mind went a little fuzzy as she pondered how strong his hands really were. Just as she had surmised in class the day that he had subbed for Dr. Lu, Stephen's fingers beheld a strength that she felt down to her toes. She gleefully allowed herself to be led to a rack of vinyl near the back, out-of-earshot of Bud and  _ almost _ out of the man's line-of-sight. 

“Obviously you just have to get lucky,” he murmured to her as let go of her shoulders and took a step in front of her. He ran an index finger along the spines of the albums, pausing once, then twice before pulling one halfway out, then pushing it back in its place. Elaine felt her heart speed up at his soft tone of voice which was a perfect pairing to her brain fuzzing out on her. She took a step back, glancing at another rack before lurching toward it, needing a bit of space from Stephen so that she could compose herself.

“If you take anything out, put it back exactly where it was,” he hissed not unkindly. They browsed in silence for a few minutes as Elaine willed her heart to slow down. Her synapses began firing again as she took in the titles. Many were obscure, but she still recognized more than she didn’t. Mentally she began a list of what she wanted to add to her collection, though a college student’s income didn’t leave a lot of mad money to spend on music. The shabby milk crates could make one assume the prices here would be bargain-basement, but Bud knew exactly how much some of these pressings were worth. She didn’t dare to pull any records out for fear of what the reprisal might be if she didn’t shelve it back correctly, but then her eyes fell to something that made her gasp.

Stephen spun on his heel towards her, furrowing his brow until he saw what she was looking at. 

“Good find,” he declared and plucked the vinyl from the shelf. She winced, realizing she hadn’t noted exactly which two albums it had been between. Stephen tipped the cover of the album, causing the vinyl to slip from its case and into his opposite hand. He brushed a thumb lightly over the edge of the plastic.

How did he keep his nails looking so nice? She self-consciously folded her fingers into a fist before wincing a second time, this time because she saw the price tag on the cover of what she was covetting. 

“You should get it,” Stephen declared, sliding the record back into the case and then handing it to her for her to inspect.

She took it with a scoff.

“I don’t exactly have an extra $75 to spend on a record right now as much as I would love this,” she sighed, running a hand over the worn cover. Though the cardboard which held the pressing was a little shabby, the record within was pristine if what she had glimpsed when Stephen had slid it out was any indication.

“Bud! How much is this thing really worth?” Stephen called over to the counter. Bud didn’t look up from the magazine that lay before him on the counter, but responded to Stephen all the same.

“For you, I’ll do $65.”

“Miser!” Stephen practically shouted over his shoulder at Bud and then turned, grinning, back to Elaine.

“A bargain; I’ll get it for you.”

“No, I couldn’t …”

“Don’t be that way …”

“What way would that be?”

“Okay, before we go down this road again, all I mean is …”

“All he means is, he wants to buy you a gift, young lady. He likes you,” Bud again didn’t look up from his magazine, but very pointedly turned a page as both Stephen and Elaine blushed at Bud’s words.

Stephen cleared his throat and Elaine laughed a little when she saw how vulnerable the pink that dusted his cheeks made him look. Eyes glittering, Stephen grabbed her wrist, causing Elaine to clutch the now-precious album to her chest with the arm he wasn’t holding.

“I think it’s time we went on an actual date, this Friday as a matter-of-fact” he declared.

“A  _ date _ date?” she asked, not quite believing her ears. People didn’t go on dates in college .. everyone just kind of hung out. No special meals or dressing nicely. When  _ was _ the last time she had been asked out? Prom? 

He gave her a huff of laughter. “Of course a  _ date _ date … unless you don’t want to.” For the first time she noticed a crack in his demeanor, a wisp of vulnerability. 

“No, no … I mean yes! Yes I want to go out with you. Jesus, sorry I’m pretty terrible at this I guess.”

He laughed again but this time she joined him.

Friday did indeed work for her. He released his gentle grasp on her wrist and she took the album to the check-out counter smiling to herself all the way. She let Stephen pay for it and then, gentleman that he was, he walked her back to her apartment. He didn’t kiss her, though she really, really wished that he would have.

<><><>

For the first time in years she was well and truly excited to be going out. Not that she hadn’t had ANY fun in the last couple of years but … again, anyone she might have ‘dated’ was a friend whom she would drink with at dorm parties and then maybe fool around with on a lofted bed. And work for a Masters Degree was isolating, especially if one’s chosen field involved subatomic particles. Maybe people had study groups, or jobs, or something less lonely than the routine she had set up for herself, but as far as she was concerned, post-grad consisted of classes and the library, with an occasional meal and/or binge-listening to an old favorite record.

Which now left her with a bit of a dilemma as she pushed clothes around in her closet. T-shirt, t-shirt, t-shirt, long-sleeve t-shirt, a fun run sweatshirt. She assumed jeans were alright as they weren’t going anywhere fancy. At least, she didn’t think they were. He was actually pretty vague about the details. But he didn’t advise her to dress nicely … ah, there was what she had been looking for. The light camel-colored sweater she had treated herself to last year would do nicely. Her heart pounded pleasantly as she applied a touch of mascara--make-up that had thankfully not expired since the last time she used it. It didn’t matter, ultimately, that she had so disliked him at first, she was well and truly excited to see what he had come up with and to spend more time with him.

It turned out their destination was Bryant Park. A small audience was spread around a temporary stage and a string quartet was just striking up as he spread out the soft flannel blanket he had brought onto the grass. The whole scene was terribly romantic, something she hadn’t been expecting. But here they were in a park, a bottle of wine between them, classical music in the air and a fairly small picnic blanket for seating.

It would probably be one of the last nights of the year that one could comfortably spend outside which was all the better. The cool breeze gently played with her doe-colored hair as she sat beside him and took the proffered glass of wine he held out for her.

“This is so nice,” she remarked. “Though I admit from our conversation the other day I assumed you were more modern-rocky as far as music tastes went.”

“I like to keep an open mind,” he waved a hand dismissively.

She became caught up in the music, sitting in companionable silence and occasionally stealing a glance over at him. As the band played on, his face became more and more open and before long, the small smile that played on his lips had turned into a full fledged grin. Suddenly he turned his head towards hers: she’d been caught staring. She held his gaze with hers, the butterflies in her stomach churning up yet again. Before she could lose her nerve, she brought up a hand to cup the back of his neck and draw him to her, capturing his lips with her own. Her soft pressure was met in kind and when he pulled away his grin reappeared. He pulled her close to him, leaving an arm wrapped around her shoulders. They listened to the music float around them.

A wonderful warmth bloomed in her chest as she snuggled close to him. He _was_ an ass. But also passionate and intelligent. ‘Totally infatuated with a med student, I’m really in trouble now’ she thought to herself, smiling. 


End file.
